


Call Me By Your Name

by ravenousbee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Call Me By Your Name AU, Call me by your name, Conkus - Freeform, Connor Deserves Happiness, Hank Anderson Swears, Human AU, M/M, RK1000 - Freeform, Rating May Change, Sad ending just saying, Somewhat smut??, connor is a struggling son, hank is a struggling dad, how do tags work, i can't write smut it's just bootleg smut, markus is just struggling, no beta we die like men, this just gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenousbee/pseuds/ravenousbee
Summary: Connor Anderson, adopted son of Hank Anderson, aspiring law yet-to-be student and a lover of mathematics, is spending the ideal summer in Ireland. He meets Markus Manfred, a growing artist and son of the famous Carl Manfred who comes to spend the summer with their family, seeking inspiration and motivation from the beautiful landscapes of the western Ireland.Their friendship, however, develops into more than Connor had ever hoped for, and soon enough, he finds himself battling a desire he's never had before.





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOHHH GOD  
> FINALLY, I PUBLISHED A FIC FOR THIS FANDOM.  
> I mean, it's not like I already don't have 5 WIPs for it but, this one's easier to write ;;;  
> So! Call me by your name was one of the most influential movies I've ever watched, so I decided to grace my favorite game with an AU c:  
> The backstory concerning Connor and Hank will be revealed throughout the course of the story, and not everything is going to match up to the Movie. E.g, Ellio has a rather big family and a bigger group of friends in Italy. Connor doesn't. It's only Hank, Connor, and Sumo in this household. The fic also takes place in Ireland, solely due to Connor's name having Irish origins.  
> Chapters aren't really long for now, because a)the beginning is somewhat null. b)*i'm not good at writing LONG FICS*, but i'm surely going to try and offer longer chapters each update.  
> Anyway, this is my first fic for DBH and somewhat the second-most serious fic, and I apologize if the writing, sucks. I'm not good at it but I'm trying to learn !  
> I hope you come to enjoy this ride, I'm surely excited for it. :D  
> Thanks for reading!

_ Cobh, Eastern Ireland _

“And does he even clean his place anymore?”

Connor asks, head tilting as he looks questionably at the blonde girl in front of him. Chloe smiles, as brightly as ever, fingers tracing circular patterns on his back. The summer breeze blows in through the open window. “Elijah’s a busy man. Least I can do for him is to take care of his everyday tasks to return his favors.”

“ _ Or _ , logically speaking, you could come stay with us.” Connor suggest, a tint of annoyance gracing his monotone voice.

“ _ Or _ , I can wait until we get enough money and move together with Hank to Detroit, like you wanted. Like I wanted.”

He turns, brown eyes locking onto bright blue ones. She offers another smile, leans in, pressing her lips against his cheek and moving in to leave a kiss on his lips before the sound of a car driving by breaks the tranquility of their time. Curiosity overpowering his senses, he walks towards the window, peeking outside to see a rather fancy car drive up to their house and coming to a stop as a rather tanned man steps out of it, holding too many baggages for his own good.

Chloe runs up besides him, hand on his shoulder as she bends down, observing the stranger by the house. 

“Who’s that guy?”

“If I had known, I wouldn’t be staring at him, Chlo’.”

“... _ Right _ .”

To his surprise, the raspy voice of his caretaker, Hank, echoes as he steps out, somewhat a scowl covering his face. “Markus, right? Manfred sent ya here?”

Markus, so that was his name.

‘Markus’ offers a cheerful expression, hand stretching to shake Hank’s hand, however, he quickly pulls it away, trying to get a hold of his baggages. Hank moves forward, fetching himself one of Markus’ countless suitcases, groaning as he looks up, and Connor knows Hank’s searching for him.

Before Hank can spot him, he leans away from the window, hurrying downstairs as Chloe settles back on the bed.

“Connor? Con—Oh here you are.” The older man says, smiling as soon as his eyes fall upon Connor. Offering a polite nod at Markus, he decides to introduce himself.

“My name is Connor.”

“Markus, pleased to meet you, Connor.” Markus says, voice tainted with politeness and respect. Hank gestures to Markus’ luggages.

“Could you help Markus here up to your room? My back can’t handle anymore carrying, kid. And you,” He turns back at Markus as Connor rushes to pick up a few of his bags, “You must be exhausted, you can rest up at Connor’s room until we fetch something for dinner, yeah? Then Connor can take you to… wherever it was that you needed to go.”

“Of course, thank you for having me, Mr. Anderson.” 

“Whatever, mi caza es tu caza, or something.” Hank says, hands waving at Markus in a dismissive manner.

“It’s, mi  _ casa _ es tu  _ casa _ , Hank.” Connor remarks with a hint of a grin.

“Oh shut your mouth.” Hank groans as he walks back inside, presumably towards the living room where Sumo resides.

Without glancing at Markus, he starts making his way back inside, expecting Markus to follow him.

And Markus does not disappoint him, as he follows him upstairs to the room. Upon entering, Chloe shots up to her feet, looking over curiously at Markus who enters shortly after Connor.

An apologetic smile directed at Chloe, Connor sends the message across. Chloe hesitantly complies. Walking up to him, she gives him a kiss and turns to greet Markus briefly before sliding out of the room as quickly as she can.

The room is as organized as ever, fortunately. Clothes folded neatly in the closet, and a few books about law, history and mathematics placed in order on a shelf. Other than that, there’s not too much to see in his room other than a flattened cushion for whenever Sumo rushes in, and of course, a bed.

“This is your room from now on.” He starts, slightly uncomfortable with his room being taken by Markus. “I’ll be next door, so we do have our separate rooms. However, we’d have to share the bathroom.” 

With a nod and the  _ same _ polite smile as downstairs, Markus places down his baggages next to the bed, dropping on it. “Thank you—is it alright if I rest for the while?”

“You must be exhausted. I believe it’s completely alright for you to rest. I’ll wake you by dinnertime, if you’re not awake by then.”

“That’s appreciated, Connor.”

Intending to no longer stay in his room with a strange, he quickly walks out to step into… a child’s room.

The only other bedroom in the house.

Hands reaching to his pockets and bringing out a coin, he nervously fidgets with it, rolling it around his knuckles as he takes in the appearance of the room.

He hadn’t been in this room for three years.

The wallpaper’s the same cheery blue color with white and yellow dinosaurs drawn on it, the rug has the pattern of a green UFO. The bed lacks a cover, neglected for a little bit over two years. The bookshelf has way too many children’s books, and the couple drawings pinned onto the walls display a happy family of three. Then, two drawings of a family of four.

An old man, a young child, and a dog.

An old man, a young child, a dog, and an older child, standing at a distance, not smiling like the other figures.

An old man, a young child, a dog, and an older child, standing next to the dog with a smile on its face.

The next template didn’t exist, but Connor knew if someone were to draw it, there’s be an old man, an old dog, and a young man, with a burning car behind them.

Hands shaking, he settles himself on the bed, ignoring the sounds it makes as he lies down on it, and closing his eyes.

* * *

 

The sudden sound of Hank shouting from downstairs awakes him, sitting up alert as he struggles to calm his breathing. Standing up, he walks up to the door connecting the room with his bedroom, unlocks it and steps out. To his surprise, Markus is already awake, sitting on his chair with a canvas in front of him.

He doesn’t seem to hear Connor coming in, too distracted by the flow of his brushes.

Not intending to disturb, Connor walks up behind Markus to take a look at the drawing and—

_ Holy shit _ .

There’s a man on the canvas, looking eerily similar to Markus. Chains around his arms and cuffs bounding his wrists together, the man in the drawing is calling out for  _ something _ , some _ one _ , most certainly in need of aid, or guidance.

It’s beautiful.

It’s really, really beautiful.

_ Now _ he knows why Markus had so many goddamn baggages with him- three of them lie on the ground, opened, featuring various sets of brushes, and palettes. Finally deciding to speak, he attempts to clear his throa—.

“CONNOR?” 

Hank’s voice startles them  _ both _ , keeping Connor from speaking with Markus and commenting on his art, and also causing Markus to irrationally let his brush move across the canvas, an ugly navy blue line breaking the drawing like a border. Markus turns around, muttering a curse as he drops his brush and gives out a yell as he notices Connor standing behind him, looking shocked himself.

“Wh—When, for how long have you been standing here? Jesus  _ christ _ —”

“I apologize, I came here to call you down for dinner—” He quickly says, not wanting Markus to think he’d been spying on him for some time, “I was about to do so when Hank called us again. I was startled, I apologize.”

Letting out a sigh, Markus leans down to pick up the dripping brush. “I understand, I’m sorry for not hearing Hank’s call the first time… and for this mess,  _ shit _ .” He says, eyes locked on the puddle of blue paint on the floor.

“It’s alright, I’ll get it cleaned up in the morning when it has dried.”

Connor turns, walking towards the door. “Would you like to join us for Dinner?”

Markus presses a hand to his collar, averting his gaze. “Is it alright if I spend tonight up here? I’d like to get done with this piece by tonight, and perhaps sleep earlier than I usually do. I’m  _ still _ exhausted.” In response, Connor only raises an eyebrow. "I thought you had rested."

Markus laughs nervously. “Unbelievable, I know.”

“It’s alright.” He twists the handle, opening the door.

“I think the drawing’s quite beautiful. It conveys the message of a prisoner, in my opinion.” He says, neither turning nor waiting for an answer as he shuts the door behind him, walking downstairs to where Hank sits, grumpily munching on his food. He's quick to snark at him as Connor steps by the table.

“Took ya long enough, huh, asshat?”

“I apologize, Hank. I was trying to bring our  _ esteemed _ guest to the dinner table. However,” He says as he sits down, offering a smile that’s specifically reserved for Hank. “I believe we have yet to be suitable for his company.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, Connor.”

Letting out a quiet chuckle, he takes a bite out of his food.

“What is he doing here?”

Hank looks up.

“Carl, an old friend sent him here for… what, being motivated? Ireland landscapes and all that, said it’d be nice of us if we took care of him for a week or two so that he can draw some stuff… or take pictures, I can’t really remember right now.”

To paint, it’d make sense if Markus was here solely just to draw. With his talent, Connor imagines he’d have an atelier or at least, would be a well-known artist that Hank and Connor never got to know.

“He is an artist.”

“No shit, sherlock.”

“No, Hank, as in,” He pauses, phrasing his question. “Is he… famous? A growing artist or…?”

Hank shrugs at that, popping open a bottle of beer. “I don’ know, but Carl is fucking  _ famous _ , so I’d imagine Markus would be too, at least in a year or two.” Drinking a few gulps from the bottle and enduring Connor’s hurtful glares, he goes back to his dinner. “Be good to him, yeah? He’ll be gone before you know it. I know you don’t like strangers.”

Connor shakes his head

“I’m an adult, Hank. I can cope.”

Hank smiles, putting away the plate and standing up.

“I know, son.”

Taking a few bottles of the infamous beer, Hank moves towards his room. “G’night, Con.”

His voice is raspy, the stench of alcohol already clinging onto the atmosphere of their house. Connor knows what’ll happen tonight, like most nights at their house for the past three years. He’s too tired to argue, so he just mumbles a response back.

After clearing the kitchen, he turns to go upstairs, to his—  _ not _ -his room and perhaps get some sleep before a huge ball of fur blocks his way, saliva dripping from its tongue.

Connor smiles.

“Wanna sleep upstairs with me, tonight, Sumo?”

Sumo only leans in to lick Connor’s hands as he reaches out to pat Sumo with them. Laughing, he starts shooing Sumo upstairs, while trying to remain quiet if Markus was to be asleep. Entering the room with no more trouble other than the trail of drool in the staircase, Connor drops himself on the bed, careless about the uncomfortable creaks as Sumo climbs onto the bed next to him.

And with hands wrapped around the warm, soft animal, Connor falls asleep.


	2. II

Mornings in Ireland are as pleasant as ever. 

Birds chirping enthusiastically at each other, colorful fruits painting the greenest of trees and kids playing in the narrow streets of Cobh.

The voice and vision of life, Connor calls it.

Of course, there’s a lazy Saint Bernard ruining the wet grasses with his  _ constant _ jumping, saliva landing everywhere, including the breakfast table. There’s also a retired lieutenant in an unpleasant patterned shirt that Connor had forced himself to choose out of some  _ other _ unpleasant patterned shirts. 

Hank needs a fashion consultant. That’s a necessity, but undoubtedly there’s none available at their small area in Cobh.

His hair is messy, strands of unbrushed hair kept in a lazy ponytail, and there’s the infamous half-full bottle of beer in his right hand. A newspaper rests in his other.

“Jesus fucking  _ christ _ , things are getting scary in Detroit.” 

Connor looks up from his plate.

“Why would you say that?”

“15 murders in the past week. All by a buncha people calling themselves the rA9 cult or whatev’ —this is  _ ins— _ ”   
“Good morning, Hank, Connor.” 

Hank is interrupted by the ever-so-polite guest of theirs, Markus. Hank stops his ranting, looking up at the man and offering a smile. “Markus! Good to see you’re awake. There’s your plate on the other side—next to Con.” 

Settling himself next to the younger man, Markus looks towards him, mouth opening.

“I’m sorry about the paint last night—I tried to erase it this morning, but it was… I, couldn’t.” 

Connor tilts his head.

“Is your painting alright?”   
“My pai—what?”

“The blue paint. It almost ruined your art.”

“ _ Oh. _ ” Markus lets out a laugh, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s alright. It helped me make it into a better piece, so I’d have to thank you and Hank for the small fright. It has… more of a meaning, now.” He reaches for a spoon. “I can show you the completed artwork, later.” 

“I’d love to see it.”

Before turning his attention back at his plate, he pauses for a moment to glance at Markus’ features.

More specifically, Markus’ eyes.

Mismatched eyes, one blue as the sky above them, one green as the grass beneath them.

“Somethin’ on my face?”    
Hank looks up, focused on the interaction between the two now. Quickly averting his gaze, Connor tries to appear preoccupied by the half-eaten pancakes. “Nothing far too interesting.” 

Hank barks out a laugh, putting his newspaper away as he picks up a bowl filled fruits. “ _ Ouch _ , Connor.” After receiving a harsh glare from the addressed boy, he turns his attention to Markus, putting the bowl in front of him.

“Irish  _ specialties _ , if you would call ‘em that. Strawberries and gooseberries, they’re pretty good.” 

Markus, tentatively picks up one of the gooseberries, putting it in his mouth.

“I was thinkin’ Connor could take you out to see the town, today. What d’ya say, Con?” 

Hesitantly, he shrugs. “I can do that. It’s alright. However, we’d have to use the bikes, I’m not sure if Markus is capab—”

“I know how to ride a bike,  _ please _ .” Markus whispers, and then turns to face Connor. “I would really appreciate it if you could guide me—I’d like to see the landscapes and some parts of the city for inspiration and perhaps as muses.” 

The eyes are  _ really  _ pretty.

“Of course, Markus.” 

Unwillingly, he tears his gaze from the mismatched eyes, standing up, and gesturing for Markus to follow him.

Abandoning his breakfast, Markus mumbles a rushed thank-you before falling onto track and following Connor behind the small villa.

“So… where are you going to take me today?” 

“Excursion.”

“...That’s not a place.”

“Exactly. I don’t have a place in mind. However, I could offer a few options for you to choose from.”

Markus looks dumbfounded.

“Okaay, sure. Go on. Shoot.”

Connor stops, by the bikes, turning to face him. There’re three bikes there. One, jet black with rest ruts covering its handles and brake, the other two painted a dark blue, also traced with rust all over them. 

“The black one’s Hank’s property. I believe it’s suitable for your size.” 

“Thank you.” Markus sits on the bike, and Connor assumes he’s testing the comfortability. As he walks his bike towards the track, Markus’ voice catches his attention. 

“Why do you have a bike with trainer wheels?”

He gulps. 

His hands shake slightly, and he quickly searches his pocket for the telltale quarter. 

_ Think of something. Think of something. _

“I-It’s my old one.”

Markus seemingly buys it, not questioning it any farther. Instead, he falls onto the streets behind Connor, riding Hank’s bike with not much struggle. As much as Connor  _ hoped  _ he would shut up, Markus doesn’t comply.

“What do you around these times? I mean, at summer.” 

“I await the end of summer.”

“And what do you do when it ends?”

“I await the end of Autumn.” 

Fantastic. Connor’s already doing a  _ great _ job at making Markus feel comfortable in their family for the rest of summer.

Perhaps it is the reason why Markus suddenly goes quiet, keeping himself from asking anymore questions.

Slightly guilty from the way he had lead the conversation, Connor clears his throat, searching for topics in his mind.

“What do you do?”

“I—What do you mean?”

“At summer. What do you do? Of course, other than this year. I’m fully aware what you’ll be doing this summer.” 

Markus chuckles at that, eyes glimmering. “ _ Well _ , back in Detroit, I’d usually spend the summers with my father, drawing in his workshop. Other than that, if a relationship called for it, we’d fool around.” He pauses, taking in the scenery in front of him as they pass by the pier. 

“Will you bring me here?”

“If you’d like, we can visit the pier.”

“ _ Please _ , this view calls for my canvas and my faithful brush.” He says, with a rather dramatic gesture of his hands before losing balance and almost falling off of the bike. Embarrassingly, Connor can’t keep himself from rolling his eyes and laughing at the fumbling artist.

* * *

 

After almost an hour, they settle by Connor’s recommended cafe. Run by a woman named Kara and her husband, Luther. Their daughter, Alice, would be seen often hanging around.

“Kara is the first person who welcomed Hank and I in this area.” Connor says, trying to list any interesting facts about the woman. “She was a refugee in Canada at first. Apparently, the costs were too much so they moved here instead. Alice, their daughter is around… 9 years old. I think you’d come to like her, she’s quite sweet.”

A pause. 

“She also loves Sumo.”

Markus chuckles at the change of expression on Connor’s face as he talks about Sumo. “You seem to love dogs, eh? Not to mention Sumo, obviously.”    
“...I like dogs.”

Upon entering the cafe, a tall black man stands up, head almost hitting the ceiling as he offers a smile. “Connor! Good to see you here. … And, sir?” 

Before Connor gets a chance to explain, Kara emerges from the kitchen, short hair misshelved and hands covered in flour. Alice follows suit, and as her eyes fall on the younger of the duo, she runs and wraps her arms around him.

“Connor! I missed you!” She says, smiling widely at him. Kneeling down, Connor puts on a smile to match hers and tousles her hair. “Good to see you, Alice. Sumo misses you. I’ll bring him along one of these days, after I’m done helping Markus around.” 

Looking up at Kara and Luther, he points to Markus. Clearing his throat, Connor recites the introduction. “Markus, this is Kara and Luther, Kara’s husband. Luther, Kara, Markus is a guest of ours for this summer. An art student, I believe.” 

“Pleased to meet you. Connor said I’d be a regular over the course of Summer due to the perfection of your coffees.” 

Kara smiles kindly, offering her hand to Markus. “We’d love to have you here.” She turns, facing Connor. “Anything you’d like for today?”

“You know, I’d love to have Markus try  caife Gaelach.”   
As Luther rushes to prepare their coffees, Markus takes a seat at a table of two, pulling out a sketchbook.

“Are you going to draw?” Comes Alice’s curious voice as she peeks over Connor’s side to see what Markus is occupied with. Grinning, he nods. “I do want to sketch. Do you wanna be my muse, Alice?”

Alice  _ beams _ , quickly taking her seat in Connor’s lap as she tries to pose for Markus to draw. Stifling a laugh, Connor shows a thumbs up to Markus behind Alice’s back.

A quick sketch of the overhyped girl later, Kara appears with their coffees, taking Alice away to stop bothering Markus, and the artist starts attempting at conversing. 

Again.

“So, you studying?”

“I beg your pardon?” Connor asks, with a tilt of his head while he sips his coffee.

“Are you studying anything? Art? Engineering?”

“Currently, no. The cost of college would be too expensive considered I’d rather study in Detroit. I’m aiming for a scholarship.” 

Markus’ eyes widen in admiration.

...His eyes are, still captivating as ever. Shaking his head, Connor turns his focus back onto his  _ interesting _ coffee. “And what for?”

“Law.”

“ _ Ohhh _ .” He hums in understanding. “Makes sense, I saw lots of law books in your room.”

Connor smiles, nodding. “I’d like to become a detective. Hank was a lieutenant back in Detroit.  _ Youngest _ lieutenant in Detroit to graduate. Not to mention he was the top of his class.” 

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” gasps Markus, a laugh taking over his expression. “If you come there, you can come stay with us.” 

Connor stiffens. 

“The man Chloe works for… Elijah Kamski. He was a well-known producer back in Detroit. That was, until he quit.” He explains, “He has a house there. If I go to Detroit, Chloe and I will be staying there.”

“What about Hank?”

“...He doesn’t want to return.”

“Ah —Unfortunate. Why though?”

His grip tightens on his cup. “He just doesn’t like the weather down there.” 

Markus  _ looks  _ like he isn’t believing him. With a raise of his eyebrow, he flips through his sketchbook subconsciously, eyes focused on Connor’s nervous expression.

After a few moments that pass by like hours, he nods. “Fair enough.” 

To his surprise, Markus stands up, shoving the sketchbook in his bag. “Well, mister detective,” Sarcasm. Wonderful. 

He heads towards the exit. “I’ll wait outside for you to come. Think we can go around the town a little more?” 

Connor nods, a frown taking place on his face. “Where would you like to go, Markus?”

The said man shrugs. “‘Round the town, like I said.”

The younger man nods once again. “...Alright then. Let me finish my coffee first.” 

Markus exits the cafe, the sound of the wooden door closing breaking the tranquility of the cafe. Sighing, Connor drinks the rest of his coffee and stands up. “Sorry Luther.” 

The tall man looks up, eyebrows rising.

“Gotta run.”

* * *

 

To say he’s exhausted is underestimating his status—Connor is  _ dying _ and Markus seems to be quite eager to ride Hank’s bike throughout the rest of the day. Stopping his bike next to a building, Connor gets off, leans against the wall and falls down to his knees, panting. He’s covered entirely in sweat and the cruel summertime sunshine isn’t making him feel any less miserable. 

Markus stops upon seeing his demise, leans Hank’s bike against another building, crossing the narrow street to sit down next to Connor.

“Tired?”

“ _ Very _ . How are you even breathing right now?” 

Markus laughs at that. “Eh, you could say I’m used to these long rides. ...So, Connor,” He turns to face him, hands creeping onto his shoulders. Connor  _ almost _ flinches away but stops himself as he remembers that Markus is a guest, and he should treat their guest with politeness. 

Markus’ hands settle on his back, slowly massaging it. He leans slightly into the touch, enjoying the pressure applied on his hurting back. 

...That does not stop him from blushing, however.

“What do you do at summertimes?”

“We’ve already had this conversation, Markus.”

“And I didn’t get an answer. So, enlighten me, mister detective.”

Clearing his throat, his hands start to pick on his nails, while his mind tries to search for a proper answer. What  _ did _ he do at summertime? Usually it was just taking Cole around the town, going to the beach, and walking Sumo.

That was until three years ago. 

...After that, all he had done was walk Sumo, make sure Hank doesn’t overdrink, make sure Hank’s gun is hidden away, and sometimes study his law books, when he could focus.

A quiet groan escapes him when he picks on his nail a bit too hard. 

“I like walking Sumo.” 

“Go on.” Markus says, almost whispers as his hands work on Connor’s sore back. It’s too pleasant, Connor concludes. 

“I like studying the cases Hank has worked on before. ...Like, there was this case, about a housemaid who killed his master.” 

“Oh? Mind explaining?”

Humming in response, Connor organizes what he recalls from the case in his mind. “The man was called Henry—no last name was provided, given he was a slave. He had been abused by his master, Carlos Ortiz.” 

A cautious glance at Markus proves that he’s waiting for Connor to explain the rest. 

“Henry stabbed Carlos 28 times one night. Body was discovered 3 weeks later. Based on what I concluded from the evidence, Henry couldn’t’ve left the area, rather hiding within the house. Which was the case, Henry was discovered hiding in the attic. …He confessed two days later. And then, he committed suicide.”

Markus flinches. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

He shrugs, mismatched eyes moving onto Connor’s. “Poor guy had it rough, huh? Jeez—Alright, what else do you do?”

“I hang out with Chloe, frequently with Daniel.”

“...And who is Daniel?”

“A friend.”

Markus’ hands leave his back, not before patting it twice. The loss of contact causes Connor to slump forward, embracing the afterglow of the touch. 

“You’re not really talkative, are you?” The art student says with a laughter, standing up and reaching his hand out for Connor to take it. 

“...No, I apologize. Chloe and Daniel do remind me of that regularly.”

Hands on the handles of his bike, he gestures forward. “This street is one of the most colorful ones’ in Cobh. There’s also a clear view of the sea. Sunset’s closing in, as well. I think it’d be rather enjoyable if we walked the rest of the way to witness the sunset.” 

Markus looks away from him, eyes focused on the street. It’s filled with colorful buildings, bright colors creating a contrast against the dull color of asphalt. The sky above them has turned into shades of blue and red, clashing with each other to create a palette of rosy shades. 

Markus’ mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water. Connor smiles slightly at that.

“Never have seen the sky before, ‘ ealaín’?”

“Detroit is… jesus, the sky’s barely visible in that city with all the skyscrapers of random companies — this is  _ magical _ , Connor.”

He shrugs. “You’ll be seeing too much of this sky, by the end of Summer, don’t worry.” Walking past him, Connor slowly guides his bike through the track, eyes focused on the sea behind the buildings. 

When Markus doesn’t follow him, he pauses, and turns on his heels. 

Markus is captivated by the view. His hand grips on the bike, while the other hangs loosely by his side. Lips parted, chest barely rising and falling. Held hostage by the sky and the reflection of the rays in the north atlantic ocean. 

Connor walks slightly closer to him, amused by the older’s bewilderment. 

His gaze falls onto Markus’ eyes. 

The green and the blue engulfed by the golden of the sun. 

His eyes are—

“—really beautiful, Markus.” 

_ Shit. _

_ What was he doing? _

Markus doesn’t seem to pick up on what he says, ears deaf to all sounds and eyes blind to all but the sunset. Sighing in relief, Connor settles by leaning against Hank’s bike, deciding to enjoy the sunset as well. 

He  _ had _ seen too much of this sky. Three years wasn’t a short period of time.

And he  _ was _ tired of it. He’d rather have his eyes bore into buildings and construction sites all day than watch the telltale sunset and sunrise each day. 

Right now, though, he could tolerate another sunset for their guest. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're, 20 minutes into the movie now people.  
> Thank you so much for the kudos/comments on the last chapter, they made my day much brighter <3   
> -The fic won't follow the exact events of the movie, however some lines and some certain events are going to happen like the movie. But e.g this chapter and its equivalent in the movie are quite different- both due to Markus' personality and in general their location.  
> -This chapter is slightly longer than the last chapter but IMO it didn't live up to the expectation I had of it. I'm sorry :')  
> -This fic in total will have probably lots of errors(grammatical or plot-wise)- if you noticed some of them, I'd really appreciate if you could tell me, god bless :') <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> ps: i made connor obsessed with eyes gdi


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KFDJSF OKAY FIRST OFF  
> I KNOW I HAVEN'T UPDATED FOR A WEEK and the only excuse I have the sheer lack of motivation, tbh. It's been an emotionally challenging week and due to my circumstance it's only gotta get worse- but, I promise, I'm not abandoning this, and I'm most definitely going to try and deliver new chapters quicker from now on. I'm really sorry, there's no excuse.
> 
> Secondly, I didn't properly thank you for your comments and kudoses in the last chapter so thank you <3 They helped make the mental pressure I was going through less unbearable.
> 
> Third thing is that I noticed this a few times in the comments, see, the plot of this story has the same goal as the movie. The beginning and the end are almost exactly the same. Specifically the ending. The plot in-between the ending and beginning is somewhat both original and both movie-based. There's a jacuzzi scene in the movie that is included in this chapter as well. While the similar elements are there, the roles are somewhat switched here and there between Connor and Markus. I h op e that doesn't disappoint anyone- but I also want to try and add my own inputs to this story :>
> 
> Fourthly i finally joined the RK1K server and god fucking bless that place is golden :')
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT : did i make the biggest mistake in the universe by messing up the timeline? yes. is it fixed now? y e s.

That night, Connor goes straight to Chloe’s house. 

Well, Kamski’s house, truly. A gigantic block of darkness in the borders of Cobh, a true contrast to the colorful paradise of Cobh. No matter how much Josh, North,  _ Hank _ or Connor begged Chloe to not go and work for this guy, it had no effect on the determined blond. She had only smiled brightly at them, blue eyes glimmering with mischief as always.

“I’ll be alright. Elijah is a sweetheart.”

That may have made Connor feel a tinge of jealousy, envy towards the man he’s never seen the face of. However, he ignored it. He trusts Chloe, and therefore had decided to respect her decision.

Didn’t make it less questionable, though. Especially now that he stood beneath the shadow of the house. His hands rise up, knock, and then he waits.

Footsteps can be heard, and soon a blonde girl  _ with blue eyes _ , opens the door. 

...Does the guy hack a knack for blue eyes and blonde hair?

“I’m here to see Chloe.” 

The girl smiles, rather forcefully, and steps aside, holding the door open for him. “Please. Chloe’s right now busy, although you can wait for her to finish her work.” 

“What work?”

“Elijah’s currently swimming.”

Oh.

That’s pretty self-explanatory. 

Entering a room with red colors and furniture that looks too modern for the simple city of Cobh. A  _ huge _ portrait hangs on the wall, featuring Elijah in a rather decent suit, hair somewhat long and a devious smile. Statues of humans, with blue orbs inside of their bodies are all around the room, and a picture on the wall features a familiar face standing next to Elijah.

Connor winces. 

Amanda Stern. 

He surely could’ve had a better day without seeing her face. 

Just as he decided to walk closer to the picture, the door opens, a silhouette with blonde hair and blue eyes emerges, but this time, it’s Chloe. 

Smile as joyful as ever, eyes filled with life as always. Connor smiles. Who  _ can’t _ smile when their eyes fall upon her? 

“Connor!” She whispers, voice filled with caution and excitement. Walking up to him, she throws her arms around his neck, and he wraps his own around her waist. 

“Did Elijah come out of his habitant, already?” Stifling a laugh, Chloe nods against his neck. “Yeah, he’s gone to his room to sleep, now.” 

Leaning away, he looks at her.

He  _ needs  _ to sort his thoughts, and he knows Chloe will help him, for the better or the worse. A look behind her, and his eyes fall upon the blood-red pool in the room. A thought crosses his mind. “You said he’s sleeping, correct?” 

Chloe nods, her arms dropping to her uniform and fixing her dress. Connor grins. “Think we can sneak in there?”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Connor, you’re joking, right?”

“While I am quite a humorous person, I believe I’m serious right now.”

“ _ Connor _ .”

“What is he going to do? Throw a young girl with her young boyfriend out of the house?”

“He’ll  _ kill _ me.” 

“It’s not like his other housemaids don’t already hang in the pool all day.” Connor points to two other girls who had just walked out of the room, golden hair drenched with water. Chloe sighs, picking on her nails. Connor’s hands move on their own to hold her hands and prevent her from doing so.

“If anything happens, you’re paying my bills. Forever.”

“I’ve already promised that, haven’t I?”

With a tired smile, the girl leads him towards the room, shoving him in before locking the door behind them. Standing frozen for a few moments, the duo stare at each other.

“...What, do you expect me to undress while you sit there in your homeless getup?”

He flinches. “I’ll have you know, my sense of fashion —”

“—comes  _ straight _ from Hank Anderson’s closet. Strip if you don’t want those  _ valuable _ clothes wet, good sir.” Chloe laughs, hands going behind her back to pop a button as her dress comes off. In a quite simple pair of underwear, she drops herself into the pool of blo—well, water. Finally managing to get out of his own clothes, Connor cautiously dips his foot into the water, testing the temperature. 

“Does Elijah  _ always _ swi—CHL—” He yells before he’s pulled into the freezing water, hands flailing around as he resurfaces, gasping for air. “Are you insane? I think working with that stupid inventor  _ has _ taken its toll on you, Chlo’.” He musters, clinging onto the pool’s walls to steady his breathing.

Chloe keeps laughing, swimming playfully around the pool, spending the few hours that they spend in Kamski’s pool blabbering about Elijah’s obsession with blondeness, blue eyes, and  _ strangely _ AIs. Connor huffs at that. Hank would  _ surely _ appreciate that idea. Old guy could barely work his way around with smartphones.

When he gets out, Chloe tosses him a few towels before settling on a chair, drying herself with another. He sits next to her, eyes on the scenery outside of Kamski’s house. The huge window in the room portraits the green plains of Cobh, filled with colorful flowers and a few children playing in the fields. 

Chloe’s hands wrap around his waist, head leaning against his shoulder.

_ Reluctantly _ , he too leans towards her, eyes moving onto focus on her hair. 

He came here to clear his thoughts of the artist.

Somehow, even after spending his time with a person who’s  _ known _ for helping him clear his thoughts, the artist is still there,  _ still _ tempti—.

He shifts, placing a kiss on Chloe’s forehead. “When will Kamski return?” 

His lips fall down to her cheeks, her lips, her jaw. 

Chloe swallows, perhaps shocked by the sudden affection she’s receiving. “In...an hour, maybe? I’m not sure when he’ll be out of his little laboratory down there with Cassandra— _ Oh. _ ” She lets out a quiet moan as Connor presses his lips to her neck. 

“He wouldn’t mind if we messed around a bit in house, would he?” He whisper against her skin, focusing on cherishing a spot on Chloe’s neck. Leaning back, he looks into her eyes.

They shine, brighter than ever, and an eager smile forms on her features. Her hands brush against his thighs, and then skipping a certain area intentionally. Placing themselves on his back, and caressing their way up to his neck, she tilts her head, smile never faltering. 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” 

So he kisses her. Leans forward, lips catching hers, and like an electric shock, it captivates him. He places his hands against her chest, stripping her off of anything she had, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. Hears her moan, feels her heartbeat  _ pacing _ , taking in her pleas for release. 

She helps him, in return, in discovering sensations he’s never felt before, makes him chase what he’s never sensed before. 

She pleases him and he pleases her, his hands roam around her body, caressing her thighs, her chest, her shoulder—thrusts, slowly, or faster, at her demands. And they both reach what they’ve been  _ aching _ for, names echoed through the empty halls of the mansion, then collapsing next to each other on the cold floor of Kamski’s pool. 

Chloe moves close to him, fitting in his arms perfectly. Like two pieces of a puzzle. Her eyes watch his every move, and her fingers knead with the freckles on his shoulders. 

His eyes observe her to no avail, and he fails at seeing what she does. His hands move up to her head, playing with her golden hair, in hopes of feeling what she does, in hope of doing what  _ she _ does for him. 

“I have to go.” He whispers, too quickly to be comprehensible but she understands. She always does.

“Stay.” Comes her hushed voice, fingers now clinging onto his shoulders, a miserable effort in keeping him where he lies. “I’ll come back.” As quietly as he can, without disturbing the girl lying on the floor, he dresses himself. Holds his hand out for Chloe to take it, and she does, like she  _ always does _ . 

She wears her dress, the dark, nul blue with a wide patch of the fabric missing, exposing her back, now tainted with marks of red.

She laughs when he mentions it, carefreely, and instead just lets her hair fall open behind her back. “It’ll cover it. Besides, let him know my boyfriend  _ does _ , in fact, act like my boyfriend.” She says with a wink, and guides him outside, standing by the doorframes until he’s out of sight. 

To Chloe, it must’ve meant a lot. Such intimacy, such closure, it’s not an easy step to take in just any relationship. It’s risky.  _ Terrifyingly _ so. 

To Connor, it means…

...nothing. 

He tries to make it  _ mean _ something—at the very least as his first intimate relationship, but he fails. To him, it means nothing. It’s an act he had thought of  _ only _ to get a certain person out of his mind. 

And now, as he walks back home, eyes focused on the seawaves he can spot from where he is, the artist is still there. The presence is stronger, even— _ even _ though he just shared what you’d share only with a lover.

But he loves her. Doesn’t he? He knows he does— 

Amicably, amourably, he— 

It’s—

Biting his lip, he keeps it from quivering as he quickens his pace, determined to get back home as soon as he can. 

Connor steps into his neighbourhood, ignoring the old men and women that greet him, and runs into his house. Ignoring Hank, Sumo or Markus, or  _ anyone _ else who calls out to him as soon as he enters, he runs up to his room, well, Cole’s room, shuts the door and drops himself on the bed.

Mind too tired from all the thoughts that crowd his brain, he barely manages to get any rest.

* * *

 

The next morning, he wakes up with a headache. Well, fair enough—he’s been too rough on his own body. 

So he grabs some coffee, probably Hank’s, and goes into their garden, spending the morning looking at their plants—well,  _ his _ . Hank does absolutely nothing to care for the poor little greenies, leaving all the work to Connor and potential nutrition to Sumo’s fantastic excretions. 

When he walks back in, Markus sits inside, head buried in a book that’s clearly written in Irish, judging by the covers. He’s quite sure Markus hasn’t learned Irish, yet he looks  _ so _ focused, it’s as if he’s understanding each and every word. 

Sumo barks as soon as he sees him, running up to the man and gracing his hand with his infamous saliva.

“Sumo—Oh  _ come on _ , buddy, this is too disgusting—”

The older man in the room puts away his book, eyes now focused on Connor upon hearing his voice. Connor tentatively looks up, offering a small smile at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

The other gives a laugh, waving his hands as if to brush him off. “It’s alright, it’s alright. I  _ was _ getting bored staring at words and not understanding what they mean.” He stands up, stretching as the book lies forgotten on the couch. 

Shooing Sumo away, Connor moves closer to the artist, reaching out for the book. “Garret Morphy?” He says, raising an eyebrow amusedly. Markus rubs the back of his neck, chuckling. “Look, I just went through your dad’s library and found  _ only _ this book. If anything, you should be questioning your dad.”

“Hank’s not my dad.” 

Silence.

_ He shouldn’t’ve said that. _

He looks away. There’s a high probability that Markus is feeling too uncomfortable for this conversation to continue. So he keeps quiet, and waits for the american man to finally leave the room. 

Instead, hands come onto his own, taking the book away. “You know, when my father said he was going to send me to Ireland, I was hoping to go to Dublin, instead of Cobh.” 

Hesitantly, he gazes into Markus’ eyes. They’re different, when he’s standing so close. His green eyes has a tint of brown around his pupils and the green looks like a pile of miniature spring leaves put together, while the blue is  _ purely _ the mixture of all the shades of the sea around their city in his irises. 

Oh wow. Connor Anderson almost sounds poetic. 

“Why’s that?”

“You know Walter Osborne?”

“Hank’s friend once talked about it… Uh, artist, yeah?”

“ _ Irish _ artist, good sir.” He pulls his phone out, and Connor notes it’s evidently more capable of whatever he or Hank owns. Well, the magical land of Detroit, Michigan. Or just America, in general. Markus hurriedly scrolls through his gallery, and then turns the screen, a painting of four persons sitting on a bench. 

Two are in the light, while the other two are staring grumpily at the viewer from the shade. The woman in the light doesn’t seem to pleased with herself, the baby in her arms struggling and her potential son at her side, is looking quite lifeless himself. 

“Lo and behold, Light and Shade.” 

Markus’ eyes are  _ shining _ . 

“It’s a masterpiece, really. And it  _ is _ his most underrated painting. But I just love it.” He grins, teeth showing as he takes the phone away from Connor’s sight, scrolling through a few more pics and presenting it again. 

“A grey morning. Also drawn in Dublin. That man was an artistic  _ genius _ , even if no one seems to appreciate him as much as that Morphy guy.”

“Morphy is actually the only artist I can recall, if you ask me to name some Irish artists.”

“Well that’s gonna change. Next time someone asks that, you’ll say Walter  _ and _ Garret. Remember who taught you that, young one.” Markus says, mockingly squinting at Connor before grinning once again. Connor scoffs, taking a step away and towards the staircase, very much determined on going to his room and perhaps study for a while.

Or just sleep.

He needs sleep. That, or coffee. Which he doesn’t have right now, and can’t make unless he wants to hear Markus for a while longer. 

So sleep.

“Actually, Connor,” Markus’ voice reaches him, and Connor tries his  _ best _ to not look somewhat irritated when he turns. “Yes, Markus?”

“Heard you have a jacuzzi in this place.”

Oh no.

“You know the drill—Let’s go.” 

The universe,  _ is _ , cruel.

* * *

 

“What are you doing, exactly?” Markus calls from the jacuzzi, eyes on the brunette who sits outside, with his feet in the warm water and a book on his lip. There’s a layer of dry cloth on his thighs, to prevent his books from getting wet. 

Connor doesn’t bother looking at him. 

“Studying.”

“In the  _ jacuzzi _ .”

“Yes? Is there something wrong with that?”

Splashin sounds, and then Markus is sitting next to him, a little too close for his own comfort. 

“Yes. Very much so. You’re supposed to keep me entertained in the pool, ma’am.”

“Ma’— _ No _ , I’m not your babysitter, Markus.” 

Instead of getting away from him, and back into the steaming jacuzzi, Markus moves closer— _ was that even possible at this point? _ —skin brushing up against his as the darker boy’s arm wraps around his shoulders. “So, what are you doing, nerd?” 

“...Studying.”

“Studying  _ what _ , Connor? It’s like a goddamn boss fight, trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Murder cases.”

“Oh ni—...What.”

The expression on Markus’ face is  _ almost _ too entertaining for him not to laugh at. The corners of his lips quirk up, and the person next to him quite dramatically gasps, hand flying up to his chest. “Wow, you’re smiling.  _ That’s _ a sight for sore eyes.” He says with a few laughs escaping his mouth while Connor, himself, falls into a fit of laughter, only stopping when his book and pen almost fall into water.

Calming down a few moments later, he flips through the pages, and showing a certain page with a photograph in it. “This, is Carlos Ortiz.” 

“Fucking hell—What happened to  _ him? _ ” 

“Stabbed. Twenty-eight times by his slave.”

“...Slave?”

With a nod, he flips through a few more pages to show mugshots of a young black man. “Henry. Last name not provided, but he insisted to be called Henry Four-hundred. Apparently he was abused by his master, both verbally and physically. Considering how this  _ was _ a case of slavery as well, and Henry wasn’t being paid for this job, Henry should’ve only received either life in prison, or more than 10 years.”

Markus frowns, eyes hovering over the photos. “And what did he get?”

“He committed suicide during his interrogation. Hank was present at the time. The new intern who had been interrogating him apparently had failed at keeping his stress levels down.”

“Jesus  _ christ, _ that’s fucked up.” Markus whispers, looking away, his arm that had been previously around Connor’s shoulders, back on his lap. 

Connor  _ almost _ misses the sensation.

_ Almost _ .

Markus huffs out a laugh, side-eyeing Connor. “And who exactly, calls ‘calmness’  _ Stress levels _ nowadays? What are we, machines?”

“There is a theory that we all could be potential machines.”

“Bullshit. Can a machine feel anything?”

“If it’s sentient.”

“And machines can reproduce now?”

“What would I know? I’m not a ma— _ Oh. _ ”

“Point proven, sherlock. What else do you have in your book?”

Connor smiles. He can talk about this. Something he loves, and is logical as well.

Of course, the act of murder isn’t logical to him. It’s  _ comprehensible _ . He can break it down to numbers, he can sort it out, and he can pull out percentages of whichever scenario that may occur. It’s calming to him, it’s understandable for him and it’s intriguing.

“Two prostitutes who murdered their handler. Well, rather, the guy killed one of them, and the other one in return strangled him.” 

Markus tilts his head. “Well-deserved. And what happened to her?”

“Ran away. With another prostitute, I think. Hank mentioned they were lovers, and had planned their escape for a while. Murder, however, wasn’t part of it.”

Letting out  a sigh and rubbing his hand across his face, the artist gives out a laugh. “Well, glad to hear they ran away. What a bastard, killing a girl like that—what did you think of this,  _ case study _ , Connor?”

Percentages. Ah, dear percentages.

“There’s a 76.3% probability that they successfully ran away. In 23.6% of the scenarios, however, they could be ran over by a car or murdered, by civilians. 0.1% chance that the interpol found them. Although since that was never repo—Hey!” 

He’s cut off by the sound of Markus dropping head-forward into the jacuzzi, swimming up a few moments after, grinning like an  _ idiot _ . A few moments later, and he’s flowing freely in the water.

“Can’t understand it, can’t listen to it.” 

Groaning, he walks away from the jacuzzi, settling on a chair nearby. “None, of this, makes sense. Why do you think the man wanted to kill the girl?”

“I’m not a murderer, why would I know?” 

“Ah pardon me, for a few moments there, I considered you an intelligent being. I apologize.”

_ Wait, too rude. _

_ Maybe he should actually apologize. _

However he finds it unnecessary when Markus chuckles, and instead of replying, starts swimming around in the petit space of the jacuzzi, leaving Connor in a somewhat… comfortable silence. 

The only sounds are the splashes Markus is causing— _ what a kid _ —and the few birds chirping their lives away. Leaning back against his chair, he closes his book, and his eyes along. 

He  _ could _ get used to this.

  
  
  


Although, the thought still hangs in the back of his mind. Chloe’s smile. Replaced by anothe—

No. Connor wasn’t like that. Isn’t like that. 

However welcoming and warm the sun may be, a thought pops up in Connor’s mind, somewhat an enjoyable idea, on the contrary to the rest of his thoughts.

“Actually, Markus,” He almost yells, to make sure Markus hears what he’s saying. “My friends—Luther, Kara, remember them? They’ll be hosting a party tonight, near a beach not too far from Cobh. You can come along, if you’d like?”

The only response he gets it a thumbs up from the man in the water. 

Well, that’s noticeably rude. 

 

With a sigh, he yet again relaxes against his chair. This time, he embraces the sun’s warmth and drifts off.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me : ok this is a half-naked markus with perfect opportunity for u to make out w him  
> connor : ***excessively trying to avoid the gay***
> 
> hey thanks for reading c: <3

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism/Reporting errors would be appreciated!
> 
> hey thanks for reading c:


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